Tucker's Claim

More likely fiction. Made up by someone wanting the reward for information that Hell’s Eight had put out. Or there could be a more nefarious reason. “You think maybe it’s a lure to a trap?”

Tracker shrugged. “It’s unlikely a white woman in those parts wouldn’t generate comment.”

“Well, if it is an attempt to lure Desi out into the open, it’s a fool waste of time.” Tucker pulled his hat down against the first bright rays of the rising sun. “Desi isn’t moving a foot off Hell’s Eight until Caine feels it’s safe.”

And as careful as Caine was of Desi, that wasn’t likely to be anytime soon.

“That’s a fact.” Tracker stared off into the distance, that peculiar stillness surrounding him.

“What?”

Tracker pulled his hat down with the small jerk that said he’d come to a decision. “I’ve just got a feeling, and until I check it out, I’m not bringing any news back to Desi. Good or bad.”

The hairs on the back of Tucker’s neck rose. “You think Ari might be alive?”

“I’ve just got a feeling is all.”

Eerie as it was, Tucker had come to have faith in Tracker’s feelings. “When are we going to check it out?”

“We?”

“Figured I’d come with you. It’s rough country south of here.”

Tracker cast another look at the house. His eyes narrowed. “You sure you want to be leaving now?”

It didn’t take much to figure out where his thoughts had traveled. Tucker let his gaze follow Tracker’s. The house stood as a small dark fortress bathed in the light of sunrise. Dark surrounded by bright. Despair surrounded by hope. And in the midst of it all, Sally slept, protected by her faith and that will of iron that believed miracles were created by man, not God. Son of a bitch. Tracker was crazy if he thought Tucker didn’t understand the reality. The woman did not need a mixedblood, beat-up bounty hunter messing with her life. It just wasn’t as easy to walk away as it should be.